


we bark at the moon like hounds in the night

by Resamille



Series: perchance to dream [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Soul Bond, Transformation, Vampires, a very sappy vampire turning, actually this is a very sappy fic overall, alternating past/present-ish, and very close but not necessarily romantic relationships?, bokuto just needs a friend, lots of pack & family dynamics, lots of reassurance!, read into it as you will, that same weird shit we make up for the sake of dumb vampire aus, this was supposed to be body horror ish but then i forgot to write it so its really not, with a side dish of BokuAkaKuro I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 03:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20147149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: “Don't go,” Bokuto croaks out. He's not sure if he means Kuroo, or Akaashi, or the dying soul in his lap. “D-don't go.”There was a time that Bokuto wasn't sire to the Fukurodani-Nekoma clan. In fact, there was a time that he wasn't a sire at all. Until Kuroo.alternatively titled: the it's free real estate meme





	we bark at the moon like hounds in the night

**Author's Note:**

> lmao what even is this  
this fic kicked my ass i started it with the intention of it being gritty and gruesome and vaguely horror and then kuroo sauntered in and it became sappy dorks the entire way through
> 
> this fic spans between long, long before the kenhina companion and sometime after it. even the "present" scenes range from a long time before kenhina fic present and to sometime after. i'm a confusing bitch i know.

There's warmth all around him: Kuroo is tucked against Bokuto's side and Akaashi is asleep, curled on top of his chest. Bokuto has his arm around Kuroo, thumb ghosting absently over his neck. The punctures from less than an hour ago when they renewed their bonds have already healed over, but Bokuto knows, closer to Kuroo's heart, there's a scar that won't heal.

Because Bokuto put it there, long ago.

It was a darker time, then.

The world was different, when Bokuto first came into it. It was older, wilder, harsher.

He has always known what he was, something inhuman and powerful and eldritch in nature. It never bothered him, not really, but whenever he thought of his kin slipping into the dark alleyways of dirt roads, using pretty words to lure unsuspecting prey, he felt sick. He fed, of course, on the weak humans who pattered about with their silly little lives, and sometimes, for a time, he'd join them. Pretend to be one of them. But he'd never kill them, not if he could help it. How horrifying, it seemed, to have to breach the gates of death only to be plucked back into a sunless existence.

No, Bokuto vowed he was never going to kill a human, not even to turn them.

Besides, it seemed they were doing a fine job of that on their own. Bokuto watched cities rise and fall, watched countless die in war and sickness, watched steam choke the sky with the coal-fired revolution.

He watched the humans hunt his blood brothers, watched dead blood run through the dirt, retched at the scent, and fled at the sight.

Bokuto has seen a lot of things.

But he'd never seen a man like this before.

He passed Bokuto in the street, hair unkempt, nose turned away from where Bokuto was sitting on the side of the road, mud covering his pants. The man was plainly dressed, but groomed, skin pale under the lamp light. After passing by, unconcerned of Bokuto's gaze following him, he hesitated and turned to the companion at his side to murmur something in his ear. And then they continued on.

The man was dead, Bokuto knew, from the look of him; the scent of dead blood in his veins; the glint of danger in his eyes and sharp-tipped between his lips. That man, like Bokuto, was dead.

Kuroo murmurs sleepily against Bokuto, tilting his head so that his lips brush against Bokuto's neck when he speaks. “Not alone anymore, Kou...”

“I know,” Bokuto says, pressing a kiss to the top of Kuroo's head. “I have you.”

Bokuto feels Kuroo's smile on his skin. “Always.”

Akaashi sits up, blinking slowly at them. “If this is about to turn into sappy sex, I'm leaving the nap pile.”

“Noooooo,” Kuroo whines petulantly, putting in a meager attempt to pull Akaashi back down. “Cuddles.”

“Needy,” Akaashi says, but there's no heat to it, and he settles back down with them. “Where's Kenma?”

Bokuto can feel the strings of the bonds with his pack stretch out before him, but it's Kuroo who answers. “With Hinata and Lev.”

“Good,” Akaashi mumbles, and promptly falls back asleep.

Bokuto was alone in the woods when he was ambushed.

“What are you doing here?” the man said, eyes glinting harshly in the darkness, shining with whatever barely-there light was supplied by the stars above.

“I'm hunting,” Bokuto said, because it was the truth.

“On my territory.”

“I didn't realize you'd claimed it.”

The man pressed his lips together, tilting his chin up slightly. “Well, I have.”

Bokuto stared him down, waiting for him to falter. He was born a dead man, an alpha, like Bokuto, but they were different, too. This man was younger, and spread thinner, it seemed. Bokuto wondered if, perhaps, he had too large of a pack to manage.

“Submit, and I'll let you hunt here,” the man said.

Bokuto puffed out his chest. “I would say the same to you. I've been here for years.”

“Submit, or face a war.”

“I will not,” Bokuto huffed indignantly. “I was here first.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” the man said. “But I will if I must.”

Bokuto didn't want to fight, though, as much as his bones itched for an outlet to the sensation of bugs crawling over his skin. Anger was a good way to make everything else disappear. But he did not want to be angry, and he did not want to have to hurt someone.

“I don't want to hurt you, either,” Bokuto admitted. “And I don't want to fight.”

“These woods and this town is not enough for two packs,” the man protested.

“But I don't have a pack,” said Bokuto. “It's just me.”

The man faltered, mouth tipped open with a response waiting to fall from his lips. Instead of a retort, he managed, “You don't?”

Bokuto shook his head.

The man appraised him, still caught off-guard, but clearly reevaluating. “Perhaps we can arrange something. I'm Kuroo.”

“Bokuto.”

“Nice to meet you, Lone Alpha.”

Bokuto presses a kiss over the hollow of Kuroo's throat, then the jut of his collarbone, then right in the center of his bare chest, breath fanning out across heated skin.

“Just—fucking—” Kuroo grumbles, squirming. He threads his hands into Bokuto's hair, tugging, and lifts his head enough to narrow his eyes at Bokuto. “Get on with it.”

Bokuto grins at him and presses a kiss to the scar above his heart. “But you—”

“Shut up,” Kuroo snaps. He grips his thighs around Bokuto's hips and twists. Bokuto lands on the bed with a _fwump_, with Kuroo sitting in his lap. Eyes glinting, Kuroo stares at him, and, with every ounce of _command_ he has in him, he utters, “_Drink, Alpha_.”

There are times where Bokuto forgets that Kuroo is as old as he is. That he is as ancient and powerful and monstrous. He forgets that somewhere under the smiles and the jokes and the messy hair is a man who survived wars that ended the world, is a beast filled with equal parts mercy and destruction. In the slow pulse in Kuroo's veins beats his own magic, as well as Bokuto's, and every once in a while, Bokuto forgets that.

This is not one of those times.

Bokuto feels the compulsion of the command turn his limbs to slow desire. He sits up, keeping Kuroo in his lap, one hand curled possessively at his hip and the other going to tangle in Kuroo's hair. He pulls Kuroo's head back, and savors the hitch of breath as Kuroo melts into it.

Bokuto murmurs _I love you_ against the skin of Kuroo's neck, and then he bites.

“Who are you?”  
The deer Bokuto had been following startled at the sound of a voice and ran off. Bokuto snarled out a curse and whirled to face the trespasser.

The vampire's gaze was filled with fire, bright and unyielding. “Who are you?” he repeated.

Bokuto sniffed the air. The scent of the vampire was vaguely familiar. This was a member of Kuroo's pack. “Your alpha gave me hunting rights.”

The man quirked an eyebrow. Belatedly, Bokuto recalled that he'd been the one he'd seen walking with Kuroo in town the week before. “Yeah? Nice try. Fuck off. This is Nekoma's territory.”

Anger twinged under Bokuto's skin. He'd been hunting, about to feed, and now his prey was gone in place of this annoying vampire. He hasn't yet decided if he was going to be mad or sad about it, but the more the vampire spoke, the more likely the scale was tilting in favor of anger.

“Yaku, it's fine.” Bokuto recognized that voice.

Kuroo slipped out from among the trees, like a shadow suddenly being cast where before there was only light. He appraised Bokuto for a moment.

“He's not lying?” Yaku asked incredulously. “Why would you give another vampire access to the territory? We don't need to make any deals, Kuroo. We're strong enough to protect—”

“He's alone,” Kuroo deadpanned. “He's alone, and he doesn't have to be, so it's by choice. We don't let one of our own starve when they're in need.”

“But—”

“_Enough_,” Kuroo snapped, and Bokuto felt the power in his words wash over him. “Go back home.”

Yaku cast a wary glance at Bokuto, but he ultimately turned away and disappeared into the trees. Kuroo stayed.

“What do you want?” Bokuto tried to meet his gaze, but found himself staring at anything else.

“I meant what I said.” Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “An alpha, all alone. Did your pack overthrow you? Are you running away to teach them a lesson?”

Bokuto snorted but kept his mouth shut.

“Not that, then,” Kuroo observed. “Something worse, then? Did you kill them? Betray them? I'm not letting a murderer hang around close to my nest.”

Bokuto must not have been able to keep the horror off his face, because Kuroo let out an appraising hum. “Then? Where is your pack? Why are you alone?”

“I don't have a pack. I never had one,” Bokuto finally snapped. He glanced up at Kuroo, met his surprised gaze. “I haven't turned anyone.”

“Why not?” Kuroo schooled his face back into something more neutral. But something still lingered in his gaze—concern? No, Bokuto was never good at reading people, so that definitely wasn't it. “We're pack creatures.”

“I can't hurt anyone like that,” Bokuto admitted. He hugged himself, fingers digging into the flesh of his own arm. “I won't.”

“It doesn't have to be something bad,” Kuroo said. “Sometimes—”

“No!” Bokuto shouted. “I can't—turn someone. What if I fuck it up?”

“That happens,” Kuroo admits. “Sometimes.”

“I won't risk it,” Bokuto whispered. “I won't kill someone.”

Kuroo watched him for a moment longer. “Suit yourself.”

Kuroo turned to go, and Bokuto was alone again.

The body lay limp in Bokuto's arms.

Still, he waits.

He waits for the tug in his heart, a twin heartbeat, a little faster, a little more alive than Bokuto, because Bokuto has always been this, but a fledgling has tasted the sunlight before, and—

He waits, and nothing happens.

“Kou...” Kuroo whispers, kneeling next to him.

Come back, come back.

But the boy is not coming back, because Bokuto couldn't turn him.

“He's so _young_,” Hinata whispers, soft and horrified, from where he stands a little ways off to watch. Kenma is at his shoulder, lips pressed into a thin, pale line. Through the pack bond, Bokuto can feel their quiet remorse, their unsuspecting grief.

It hits Bokuto all at once: that he has failed this boy, this _child_, at least compared to Bokuto. Akaashi had brought him in, dying, and, as always: Bokuto had offered salvation.

But he is not God, and he cannot save with unconditional love.

No, Bokuto's miracles are a matter of luck, and tonight all hope has fled him.

There's a cry, and Bokuto only semi-consciously recognizes the voice as his. There's anguish in his wailing—mourning heartbreak of lost potential. Kuroo wraps his arms around him, and Akaashi quietly moves to take the body from his arms.

But Bokuto shakes his head and curls around the boy, as if his will alone can kickstart the soft flutter of a heart. Akaashi pauses and instead sits in front of Bokuto on the floor. He watches Bokuto for a moment, and then tears begin to fall down his cheeks.

“I'm sorry, Kou,” Kuroo murmurs. He's close, curled around Bokuto almost protectively. “But we have to take him away.”

“Don't go,” Bokuto croaks out. He's not sure if he means Kuroo, or Akaashi, or the dying soul in his lap. “D-don't go.”

“Stay with him,” Bokuto distantly hears Kenma whisper. His voice is hoarse, concerned, and it tugs fiercely at Bokuto's bond through Kuroo. “We'll take the body.”

Someone eventually peels the boy from Bokuto's arms, and to fill the space, Bokuto clutches at Akaashi. Not for the first time, he thinks that maybe if Kuroo had subdued him, instead, then maybe things would be different. Bokuto isn't fit to be an alpha, not truly.

“Stop it,” Kuroo says. He grips at Bokuto's chin, forcing his tear-stained expression to face Kuroo directly. “You are the best alpha,” he states. “You're compassionate and kind and brave. Don't you ever fucking doubt your place.”

Bokuto lets out another cry, and pulls Kuroo against him, too, crying into Kuroo's hair.

The scent of blood was strong in Bokuto's nose. Fresh, live, still-beating. Through the forest, he stalked a deer, footfalls quiet in the underbrush. Bokuto knew how to hunt animals—he'd been doing it all his life, balking at the idea of hunting something more kin to himself. In the past, his poor hunting skills had turned to hunger dragging his muscles to lethargy, his body weakened from days, perhaps weeks, without blood.

So he learned.

Now, as he stepped with quiet determination through the trees, he was a hunter, cold and fierce and unending.

Bokuto was so wrapped up in the taste of a kill, the upcoming feed, that he didn't notice the foreign smell until it was right under his nose.

Right under his nose, with _Bokuto's_ deer, its neck snapped with quick precision.

Bokuto growled. Again, this stupid alpha was getting in his way. Maybe this territory wasn't worth it after all, but Bokuto was stubborn. And tired of living without a home.

“That was mine.”

Kuroo looked up from his place, kneeling next to the downed animal. “Didn't see your name on it.”

Bokuto sighed, because he didn't really have an argument against that. He turned to go.

“Take it,” Kuroo said, and Bokuto turned back around, surprise written into his movements. Kuroo looked at him, gaze still infuriatingly unreadable, as usual. “I have a pack. You don't.”

Bokuto blinked at him, then down to the deer. It'd feed a lot more than him. “You _have a pack_. You need to take care of them.”

“They'll help me find another,” Kuroo countered.

Bokuto let out a huff. “I'll be fine.”

Kuroo raised one brow. He gestured at the deer. “Drink with me, and then help me hunt another. Deal?”

Bokuto hesitated. But it _was_ his deer, after all. He supposed he could share it, and then help Kuroo. He crouched down on the other side of the deer. Kuroo gestured at it again, then tilted the creature's head up and bit neatly into its neck. Bokuto watched blood drip from the corner of Kuroo's mouth, and then dug his own teeth into the deer's shoulder.

He had to admit: it felt good, not to be so alone.

Kuroo's mouth is covered in blood.

“Kenma's still trying to figure out how to use his limbs. I was helping him,” Kuroo informs Bokuto. He reaches out and grips onto Bokuto's shoulder—not to steady himself, just to touch. His voice lowers to a whisper, barely sound.

Or no sound at all, spoken directly to Bokuto's heart.

_You found something_?

Bokuto grins at him and starts forward, Kuroo at his side, always at his side. The pack is still on the move, trying to find somewhere new. There's an abandoned hotel closer to town that looks promising, but, for now, they're camped out in a forest, some hunter's land reserved for wildlife.

And wild they are.

As Bokuto runs, silent like the swoop of an owl going in for the kill, Kuroo prowls behind him, gaze and teeth sharp.

The hunt is over with swift victory. Bokuto digs his claws into the deer's chest, blood flowing between his fingers, and Kuroo doesn't even bother waiting for the body to hit the ground before he's dug his teeth into its flank.

They feed like fledglings, messy and untamed, though neither of them have ever been turned. The rest of the pack are nearby, spread out as pinpoints of connection in the forest, and Bokuto feels so absolutely, entirely, content. They're thriving, soon to be settled in a new home, with plans and dreams and love between them all.

Kuroo tears away from the deer with a laugh, giddy and ecstatic, and then he's lunging at Bokuto, knocking him to the forest floor, and nipping wildly at his neck, playful pricks of teeth against Bokuto's skin. Bokuto growls at him out of instinct, but then he's laughing too, arms wrapping around Kuroo's waist.

Kuroo tastes like blood, wet against his lips, and he presses Bokuto into the leaves on the ground, bodies aligned like they're meant to be. Bokuto's heart has never beat; he imagines the flutter of his chest is a heartbeat, kickstarted by Kuroo's hands on him.

Kuroo picks his head up long enough to smirk down at Bokuto, and he snakes a hand between them, fingers dipping teasingly below the waistband of Bokuto's shorts. He grinds his hips down against Bokuto's, and Bokuto feels a gasp catch in his throat. “Shh,” Kuroo says, stage-whisper. “Wouldn't want the pack to come check out what's happening.”

Bokuto twists and flips them over, only getting the advantage because he sweeps Kuroo's arms out from under him. He licks a slow stripe up Kuroo's neck and splays a hand, bruising force, against Kuroo's hip. “Let them. They'll see how good I fuck you.”

Hunger gnawed against the inside of his bones, a beast scratching at his ribcage, trying to break free. Bokuto stalked into the darkness, just as he had the night before, and the night before that, too.

His instincts said: this is right, feed, _feed_.

But his brain said: something is horribly wrong.

His instincts were always the louder voice.

This time, when he slipped from the den he'd made out of an abandoned barn on the outskirts of town, instead of heading for the forest, he went towards town. He stumbled like a drunk man, sometimes wandering aimlessly for a moment before he regained his senses. Then at other times, he strode with the pace of a war march.

He was losing his mind.

“Not to cut you off here,” said a too-familiar voice, “But I'm going to have to cut you off here. Where do you think you're going?”

“Hunt,” Bokuto grunted.

“Not in town, you aren't,” Kuroo snapped. “You'll start a hunt for all of us.”

“Let me go.”

“No,” Kuroo said. “Go back to the forest and hunt if you must.”

“Don't want to.”

Kuroo's eyes flashed gold in the darkness, fury written in his moon-cast expression. “It isn't a matter of _want_. It's an _order_.”

Bokuto sneered at him. “You challenge me as an alpha?”

“I challenge you as a sane, rational mind,” Kuroo quipped back. “Something is wrong with you, Bokuto, and I am not letting you near a human while you're not safe to be around. Clearly, you are not in your right mind. Go home, or to the forest.”

Bokuto let out a growl, animalistic and angry. But he turned, and stalked back towards the forest, shoulders hunched forward.

“'_Kaashi_,” Bokuto whines.

“He'll be gone by midnight,” Akaashi says, slipping a hand around his date's waist.

“Like Cinderella!” Suga chirps.

“Or at least two,” Akaashi amends.

“Fine,” Bokuto grumbles. But it was a _pack_ get-together. They were going out _together_. As a pack. Suga doesn't count.

Akaashi drifts away from Suga and places his hands on Bokuto's cheeks, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Suga basically counts,” he says. Bokuto loves it, when his pack is so close they can read his mind. He loves it, he reminds himself, because it means his pack is healthy and happy and cared for. “Don't pout. You know I'm always yours.”

Bokuto blows a raspberry at him. “He can stay as long as you don't sneak off.”

“You have my word, Sire,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto has half a mind to pout harder out of spite.

But he won't, because he's a good sire, and he's gonna show the newbies what a good clan gathering is. It's tradition, to go out and have fun together, to do something as a family, at least once a year. They don't really celebrate birthdays, since the years blend together in the murky water of time, but this might be a substitute.

Akaashi, with his connections and money, has booked the bar for the night, and alpha and fledgling alike of the Fukurodani-Nekoma clan fill into the space. Bokuto takes stock as he enters, Akaashi and Suga trailing behind him.

Kenma and Hinata are already tucked away in a booth, curled against each other. Hinata looks up from where he's watching Kenma play on his handheld when they enter, still just a bit extra attuned to Bokuto. He scrambles up, but instead of going to Bokuto, he hovers around Suga, asking for details on the other new fledglings in Karasuno.

Yaku is at the bar, trying to convince Lev to drink a flaming shot of some sort. Yamato is trying to convince Washio to dance. Komi is laughing at them both. Taketora and Inuoka actually are dancing, with each other, but two completely different styles and, infuriatingly, they both look good. Kai and Fukunaga look on, not laughing at all. Konoha is flanked by Suzumeda and Yukie, each of them nursing a drink a different shade of red. The rest are on their way; Bokuto can feel it in his blood.

Bokuto orders himself a drink—the bartender is under the influence of Kiyoko's _enchanto_ so he won't remember anything, which cost Bokuto's pack a hefty price in blood, but honestly? Worth it. A few years ago Kuroo tried to bartend for them and the result was unspeakable. Because exactly no one remembered what happened. Kuroo claims that means he did his job right.

Kenma suddenly appears under Bokuto's arm and mutters, “Speak of the devil.”

Kuroo bursts through the door with a cry of, “Cake!”

And suddenly the room, filled with vampires with an average age of over two hundred, dissolves into cries of glee and shoves and _dibs on the corner piece_.

Five minutes later, Akaashi has frosting on his nose, courtesy of Suga, everyone has cake, and Bokuto feels the overwhelming urge to cry at how happy he is. Partly because of the cake, mostly because of his pack.

Kuroo slips his arms around Bokuto's waist, resting his cheek on Bokuto's shoulder. “You've built this,” he murmurs. “We did.”

“There is no one else I could imagine creating this family with,” Bokuto whispers back, and Kuroo, lips tasting of frosting, brushes a kiss across Bokuto's mouth, soft and sweet.

“I was there, too, y'know,” Yaku grumbles around a fork.

“This is why your the pack's soccer mom!” Lev pipes up.

Yaku kicks at his shins.

“Look at our children,” Kuroo says, and Bokuto knows he's only half-joking. “Please tell me you're proud of this.”

“Of course I am,” Bokuto says. His instinct is to be defensive about it, but it's not. He knows there are times, still, when he doubts that this is the best decision. When he doubts himself and what they're doing and if they should carry on, or just say fuck it all and bend to the will of another pack. But Bokuto loves what he's created here. He loves what Kuroo and he have made, watching generations spread out before them like branches of a tree.

“You're being sappy,” Akaashi warns.

“I know,” Bokuto sniffs. “I'm your alpha. I'm allowed to be sappy.”

Taketora suddenly raises his glass. “To Bokuto!”

The echoing cheer rings out: “To Bokuto!'

Kuroo whispers against his ear: “To you, my love. I have never once doubted you.”

It started with stalking footfalls, almost imperceptible.

But he was an alpha, an alpha, and this beast that was barely more than a fledgling, even with another alpha's blood running through him, was no match for senses trained to hear the murmur of a dying heartbeat.

Bokuto has a rabbit clutched in one hand, blood running over his fingers. He felt ragged. He felt unstoppable.

“What does he _want_?” Bokuto snarled in the direction of Kuroo's second-in-command. “Leave me _alone_.”

The trees rustled. Silence.

Bokuto was alone.

He sat down on the ground and bit into the shoulder of the rabbit, tearing at fur and flesh.

He was so hungry.

When was the last time he slept?

Whispers in his ears, the trees talk: phantom heartbeats in his mind; phantom creatures in the dark, of which he himself was one.

Akaashi is like starlight. He burns cold, fierce and unshakable and confident, even in a world that shuns him. He speaks of the world like he'd crafted it himself, nimble fingers spinning the web of life into minutes, hours, days.

He charms Bokuto with his words, with the cut of his jaw, with the intelligence in his gaze. And something about Bokuto must charm him, too. Their introduction began outside a popular late-night diner, but now they sit across the room from each other and bare their souls, their deepest secrets.

Akaashi leans against the window, not meeting Bokuto's gaze when he admits he wasn't born a man.

What a coincidence, Bokuto thinks, as he tells Akaashi that, though its in a very different sense, he wasn't either.

And then Akaashi asks Bokuto to turn him.

Like a fool, a beautiful lovestruck fool, Bokuto says yes.

Moments led to this, and it was these moments that Kuroo must have seen. He wrote them into the story of Bokuto's life, filling in the puzzle pieces with a mind sharper than his fangs.

Bokuto didn't recognize a single one of the signs. He only hungered, and nothing would sate him. Not the blood of animals, at least.

The man was chopping wood in the forest, just after sunset, when Bokuto descended upon him. He let out a yell and raised his ax, but a human is no match for a vampire.

Certainly no match for the monster Bokuto has become, fingers sharpened permanently into claws, scars against his lips where his fangs cut fresh wounds. With the man pinned beneath him, ax strewn to the side, Bokuto went for the kill.

He got a mouthful of dirt instead.

“What do you think you're doing?” Kuroo snarled as Bokuto rolled over into a crouch. Kuroo knocked him away from his prey, and now the man was scrambling up, running away.

Bokuto snarled and tried to go after his easy kill—surely Kuroo knew this was fresh meat, for the taking, why wasn't he _helping_? Fresh blood would make everything better.

“Bokuto, _look at me_,” Kuroo said.

It occurred to Bokuto that there was a command in Kuroo's words, but he disregarded it. He was hungry. He needed to feed.

Bokuto lunged around Kuroo again, and this time he managed to get a few feet away before Kuroo tackled him again.

“Bokuto, Bo—”

Bokuto let out a hiss, writhing under Kuroo. He threw his elbow back, feeling it connect solidly. Kuroo let out a wheeze, but, instead of reeling back, he dropped his weight fully onto Bokuto. Shaking with anger, Bokuto slammed his head back. The resounding crack was the sound of Kuroo's jaw snapping closed.

Kuroo recoiled, and Bokuto took he chance to through Kuroo off him. For a moment, he thought to go after his prey, but why would he, when there was something just as willing to die, right before him?

Kuroo jumps to his feet, blood trickling down his face. He spit into the ground, snarled at Bokuto, “You're losing it. Get off my territory.”

“Not _yours_.” Bokuto's voice came out gravelly, hoarse from disuse. He stalked forward, baring his fangs. “_Bow, weakling_.”

Kuroo twitched. “Bokuto, you—said you never wanted to hurt a human. Remember that? Go home, or leave, or—”

Bokuto lunged for Kuroo. Kuroo broke off to dodge to the side.

“Don't do this.” Kuroo pleaded. “Come back. You're not yourself.”

“_Hungry_,” Bokuto said, and lunged again.

“Get away from him!” shouted someone from nearby, and suddenly the ground in front of Bokuto was on fire.

“Yaku!” Bokuto heard Kuroo's voice. “Fuck—get out of here.”

“Kuroo, I can h—”

“_Go_,” Kuroo snapped.

Funny, how Kuroo's pack was as much his downfall as Bokuto's lack of one was his.

Bokuto leaped through the flames. He landed on Kuroo, knocking him to the ground, and dug his fangs into Kuroo's chest.

Kuroo gasped and went limp.

“I don't want to kill you,” Bokuto whispers. His fingers shake.

Kuroo and Yaku crowd into the doorway of the small bedroom. The apartment that the pack currently calls home is cramped, even though Bokuto hasn't turned anyone since Kuroo. This room is normally Kuroo and Bokuto's. It's the only one with a real bed.

“Whether I turn or not, I would never blame you for something I requested,” Akaashi says, gaze soft. He reaches out to brush the pads of his fingers against Bokuto's jaw. Gently, he trails his fingers against Bokuto's lips. “I want forever. I could ask for it from no better person.”

Bokuto lets out a long breath. He's nervous. He's going to screw this up—

Kuroo squeezes into the room, shoving close until he's pressed against Bokuto's shoulder. “It's okay.” _You can do this_.

Bokuto fidgets for a moment. He snatches at Akaashi's hands and holds them in his own. Instinctively, Akaashi squeezes Bokuto's hands reassuringly.

“I—” Bokuto starts, and then tumbles over his own words, tongue fumbling. “Keiji, you're magic. You mean the world to me. You're stars and snowflakes and lightning and everything beautiful and good, and—” Bokuto hiccups, choking on the thoughts scrambling through his brain. “And I couldn't forgive myself if I robbed the world of its most precious gem.”

Akaashi blinks at him, and Bokuto tries really hard not to dwell on the fact that his eyes look misty. If Akaashi cries, Bokuto will definitely cry, and then Kuroo will cry, and Yaku—

_Focus_, Kuroo reminds him.

Bokuto clears his throat, and squeezes Akaashi's fingers. “But I'll be damned if I let anything else take you away from me, either old age or sickness or another vampire. So... if you're sure...”

“I'm sure,” Akaashi says, quietly firm. But his voice sounds a little rough. “I said I want forever. With you.” He draws one hand out of Bokuto's grasp to press it to Kuroo's cheek. “And Kuroo. And your pack.”

“Then I'm going to turn you,” Bokuto says, with as much confidence as he can muster.

“I would be honored,” Akaashi replies. “Where do you want me?”

“On the bed,” Bokuto says, and then flushes, but Akaashi just grins and sits down primly on the blankets.

Bokuto sits next to him and wraps his arms around Akaashi, nudging him until he leans back against Bokuto's shoulder and chest. Kuroo kneels in front of them, reaching out to take Akaashi's hand and rubbing circles into Akaashi's knuckles with his thumb.

“Relax,” Kuroo murmurs. Bokuto isn't sure which one of them he says it for. Maybe all of them.

Bokuto brushes Akaashi's hair away from his neck and holds back tears. He feels like his stomach drops out from under him as he feathers his lips across Akaashi's neck.

“You're sure?” Kuroo asks, saying the words that Bokuto's throat is too tight to choke out.

“I am,” Akaashi says.

“I love you,” Bokuto says, because he doesn't want to leave it unsaid. It's been spoken between them in their touch, in their friendship, in their memories, but never aloud.

“I love you, too,” Akaashi whispers. He takes a deep breath, and, as he exhales, Bokuto sinks his teeth neatly into Akaashi's throat.

Bokuto drank. He swore he could feel the beating of Kuroo's heart against his lips, but he must have been imagining it, for Kuroo's heart had never beat. His fangs sunk deep, hit bone. Kuroo's blood tasted different than Bokuto was used to. It wasn't fresh, not in the sense that animals were fresh, but it made Bokuto feel warm. He drank, because he was hungry, and Kuroo reached up slowly to push him away.

But Kuroo did not push him away. Kuroo put his arms over Bokuto's shoulders.

“Kuroo!” Yaku cried, in the distance, but Kuroo had given him a command to leave. Yaku couldn't disobey a direct order from his sire.

Bokuto drank. Blood overflowed from the corners of his mouth, soaking into Kuroo's clothes and the leaf-strewn ground below. This was what he needed: to feed. To satisfy. To kill—

And suddenly, the blood in Bokuto's mouth turned to bitterness, to ash. He scrambled away from Kuroo. Kuroo's arms fell, dead weight, to the ground.

Yaku was back. He stared at Bokuto, at Kuroo's body on the ground, and trembled intensely, flames licking between his fingers. “What have you done?”

Yaku was back.

Kuroo's command no longer had effect.

Kuroo was dead. Actually—dead.

Bokuto let out a noise like a whimper, like a cry, like anguish escaping a broken man.

Tears began falling down Yaku's cheeks. “Fix this,” he demanded. “Bring him back.”

“He's—” Bokuto wanted to argue. Kuroo was an alpha. Bokuto couldn't turn what was already born undead. “I—” Bokuto had never turned anyone. He'd never killed anyone, either, until now.

“Fix him!” Yaku yelled. He raised his hands, despite how much he was shaking. “Fix him, or I will burn you alive.”

“I can't—” Bokuto choked out, and the blood in his throat tasted like bile.

“_Try_,” Yaku hissed, spoken command turning his voice to iron.

Yaku could not control Bokuto, of course he couldn't, yet still Bokuto felt a tug of something in his chest. He heard Kuroo's voice in his mind: _are you really going to die, haven needlessly taken a life?_ After Kuroo died trying to keep Bokuto true to his nature? After Bokuto _killed_ him?

His body seemed to move of its own accord, pulled towards Kuroo. Bokuto had never turned someone, but he'd seen others do it. He'd watched life spark in dead eyes. Perhaps he could yet perform a miracle.

Bokuto brought his arm up and ripped at the skin with the claws of his other hand. Blood immediately began to spill past his elbow, dripping onto the ground, and Bokuto had a moment of panic that he was wasting it. If all the blood he had left was what it took to save Kuroo, then Bokuto would make that sacrifice.

He brought his blood to Kuroo's lips and prayed.

Akaashi tastes like spring snowfall, the freshness of a new dawn, the tang of the air before a storm, the sweetness that follows. Bokuto squeezes his eyes shut and pretends that he's just drinking from a packmate, renewing existing pack bonds. Soon, he chants, soon it will be a real pack bond. Soon he won't be imagining. Soon, because the alternative is unthinkable.

Blood spills against Akaashi's collar, dripping between him and Bokuto. Akaashi's breathing slows, and he slumps closer to Bokuto. When Bokuto finally manages to open his eyes, when he pulls away from Akaashi's neck, he finds himself looking at an angel: Akaashi's expression is peaceful, lips parted as if waiting for the breath Bokuto will return to him.

Bokuto takes in a shaking breath himself, and he knows he has to give Akaashi his blood, but he can't move. He holds Akaashi's body close, and wants to stop this moment right here, forever, because he'll never have to face the chance of failure that way. If time stops now, then Bokuto will hold Akaashi in his arms forever, and Akaashi will never truly die.

“—to. Bokuto.” _Bokuto_.

Bokuto looks at Kuroo, panic starting to bloom in his chest. “Help,” he croaks out.

Kuroo gently pries Bokuto's arm away from Akaashi. Kuroo's fingers shake, but he's quick and sure when he bites into Bokuto's wrist and draws blood. He stands and presses Bokuto's wrist against Akaashi's lips. Blood smears across Akaashi's chin at first, but Kuroo maneuvers Bokuto until his blood begins to trickle down Akaashi's throat.

Tension fills the room, the longer they wait. Bokuto swallows hard and almost chokes on his own tongue. He wants to cry. He does cry. Kuroo presses his lips together, a thin, worried line. Yaku doesn't move from the doorway, but Bokuto can feel his tension over the pack bond. For a moment, Bokuto's instincts kick in, and he tries to will himself towards calmness for the sake of the pack so they aren't bombarded with Bokuto's feelings.

But it doesn't work, because this is Akaashi. Because the pack knows how important this moment is for their alpha. Because if Akaashi... If... It would crush both Bokuto and Kuroo. And to be heartbroken is one thing, but to watch the person you love shatter into a million pieces is so, so much worse.

Kuroo runs his free hand through his hair, expression twisting.

_It will work_, his heart says. _It will work_, he pleads, as if there's a god to answer the pleas of the undead, the bastards of the natural order of life. Vampires are their own gods of death, praying to bring their redemption in a red resurrection.

Bokuto doesn't let go. He refuses. He won't. If he lets go, then it's over and hope is lost. So he stays, clutching Akaashi and dripping blood against his lips. Despite his determination, he's beginning to shake. His body is responding to the panic, creeping ever closer towards inevitable, before his mind accepts the truth.

Fangs snap into his forearm.

Bokuto jumps, accidentally ripping his arm away from Akaashi's mouth, and Akaashi hisses at him.

“F-fuck,” Kuroo breathes, voice stuttering. “Thank—” _god_.

Akaashi grips at Bokuto's arm, and Bokuto grips at Akaashi, pressing his face against Akaashi's shoulder. Akaashi makes an annoyed, dissatisfied noise, and wriggles against Bokuto. But then Yaku brings a ziplock bag of blood. Akasahi snatches at it.

Akaashi drinks and is content to stay in Bokuto's arms. He doesn't complain, either, when Kuroo curls against his other side. He doesn't seem to mind when Yaku sits on the floor and leans against his legs.

Bokuto was watching for signs of life, waiting for Kuroo's expression to twitch, for his fingers to reach out. He was so focused on watching for a reaction from Kuroo that he wasn't prepared for the rush of feeling that enveloped him.

Suddenly, Bokuto was at the center of something much larger than himself. Yaku, nearby, gasped, and Bokuto could feel his surprise like an echo of his own shock. Like torches being lit in the night, Bokuto's heart filled with purpose. There were a few others, young and fresh and worried for Kuroo. Bokuto knew where they were, and, though he didn't know their names, he knew the need to protect.

He had forgotten what it felt like to not be alone. He'd forgotten what it meant to have a home and a family. He had forgotten himself.

Kuroo coughed, and brought his hand up to grip at Bokuto's arm, guiding it away from his mouth. He blinked blearily at Bokuto. “Knew... you could do it.”

Yaku descended upon them both, fussing over Kuroo. Bokuto sat on his knees, overwhelmed.

Kuroo's grip shifted. Bokuto looked down at their linked hands. His fingers were no longer claws.

His chest was no longer empty; his hunger had been sated.

Bokuto dreams of a monster.

A hulking beast, hands blackened with dried blood, fingers tapered into claws. Vicious, untamable, this beast stalks him in his nightmares. It haunts him—knowing that this creature of destruction and death lies within him, brought out not by the hunger for blood but by the hunger for contact, for connection.

But Bokuto isn't alone anymore.

The nest is empty, now, with Kuroo leading a hunt and Akaashi visiting Karasuno.

Bokuto isn't alone.

The beast inside him is unreasonable. It has teeth and claws and stalks through the night, prowling at Bokuto's insecurities. That same beast claws its way up through Bokuto's throat at the first sign of a threat to his family; it tears through his skin to sacrifice everything for his pack. It bleeds, and it hunts, and it protects, and it is _him_.

“Boo!”

Bokuto jerks, but Kuroo's arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“Thought you were hunting,” Bokuto says.

“Slipped away,” Kuroo murmurs, resting his chin on Bokuto's shoulder. “You seemed like you could use some company.”

“I could always use _your_ company.” Bokuto twists in Kuroo's arms, presses a kiss to his lips. Absently, he traces over the scar on Kuroo's chest, fingers catching in the fabric of Kuroo's t-shirt.

“What'cha thinking 'bout?” Kuroo asks, as if he doesn't already know.

“Why did you do it?” Bokuto whispers.

“I trusted you,” Kuroo answers immediately. “You were lost, but you were _good_. You _are_ good.” He kisses Bokuto's temple. “I suppose in my gut, I knew what was best for my pack, and you were it.”

“I wish I had that sort of faith in myself,” Bokuto mumbles. “I feel like a fraud. Like I'm a fake, pretending to be you.”

“Never,” Kuroo says. “You've been what this pack needs when I was too weak to take action. We've built this together, and you know that. The pack knows that.”

“You've given us so much.”

Bokuto turns to see Yaku—but he's not alone. The pack stands in a semicircle. Slowly, they draw near, wrapping around Bokuto like he's the center of their being.

Because he _is_ the center of their being.

Miraculously, Akaashi is there, too, drawn by the inexplicable pull of his sire, and not a word is spoken between any of them—not even a peep from Lev or Hinata—but no one needs to say anything.

There's warmth all around him: the uplifting power of a family's unyielding faith, a echoing chant upon their bond of love and connection and strength and _you are worthy, you are worthy, you are worthy_.

Bokuto feels it, at his core, where his humanity would have been: this is where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> this could only work with bokuto overtaking kuroo's sire bonds bc kuroo would get distracted by bokuto's bobbies long before he ever managed to reach his heart


End file.
